


The Cache

by mmmuse



Series: Moments from Poldark [7]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 19:06:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8339215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: Trapped behind the false wall of the smuggler's cache, Ross has time to reflect on recent events, and refocus his attention to what truly matters.





	

Cold. Hungry. He wasn’t certain how long he’d been entombed in darkness, but he wasn’t certain he could remain much longer.

The air reeked from his sweat and the chamber pot he’d been forced to use. His hand hurt, and he wondered if he’d broken a knuckle. He remembered the touch of her fingers against his cold skin when they met in the copse of trees near Nampara. He’d never been so happy to see her in his life. The warmth of her body against him, the scent of thyme in her hair. He’d wanted her desperately, the night before he’d left for St. Mary’s, and she’d happily slipped into his arms, their legs entwining as their hands and mouths explored each other. Until Jud and Prudie began screeching loud enough to wake the dead. Lying abed, staring at the canopy above their heads, the frustration and regret almost as tangible as the bellows down the hall. 

From the moment the crew had spotted land he’d wanted to share his thoughts about their future. Since his imprisonment in the cache he’d had plenty of time to expand upon his plans. The hay was high, nearly ready to be cut. Perhaps there’d be time for a second crop if it stayed warm into fall. And the fruit trees near the long field promised a high yield. Fishing in the cove, although Demelza’s skills had proven to rival his own. Perhaps he’d suggest they go out in the boat together, to have Jeremy join them, when he was a bit older. And he’d spend time with the boy, something he needed to do, to build a relationship with his own son, not the son of his cousin.

“Cherish my wife and child,” he’d reflected. He’d neglected both for so many months, he wondered if he deserved the chance to make amends for his behavior. His grief for Julia, for Francis, and the unsettling distraction of Elizabeth had obscured one, simple fact: that the balm for his suffering laid right before him, in the laughing hazel eyes of his son, so much like his own, and the touch of his fiery-haired wife. 

Ross pressed an ear against the board concealing his hiding place, his need to escape reaching its zenith. He nudged the false wall of the cache aside, the screech of the wood near deafening to his hearing. He froze, listening for steps. Hearing none, he set aside the wall and the floor supports, no longer caring if their groan and clatter raised the dead. His eyes flashed to the clock on the mantle: nearly eighteen hours since he’d scrambled inside the cubbyhole Zacky Martin convinced him to add to the cache that night. This was not the first time Ross owed his friend his life, and he’d bloody well repay him for his foresight. 

He rose to his feet, shaking dirt from his coat, then stopped. Demelza’s voice halted him where he stood, its sweet contralto weaving around him as soft and welcoming as her arms. His mind raced back to a night, nearly six years hence, when she’d stood in front of the gathered guests at Trenwith on Christmas Eve, each of them seeking to deem her worthy of standing with them, a kitchen maid elevated to lady. Her voice had called to him, a love song filled with longing and desire, fanning the flame of love he’d held – newly discovered – within his heart. His throat tightened, as it had that night, the gentleness of the words drawing him closer and closer to the door.

He eased the heavy oak door back from its latch to find his wife surrounded by candlelight, her hair loose and curling around her shoulders. Her hand rested against her chin as she stared pensively into the fire. How many times had he stood here, watching her, as she’d played the spinet, or as she’d fed their children? How many times had he joined her by the fire, talking about his day at the mine, or her day in the orchard? He remembered the early days of their marriage, when he’d kissed her as they lay on the fine Turkey rug, their bodies fitting together as if made for the other. 

Cherish this life he had with her. Having come so close to losing it, twice in as many years, he reached for it now.

Her song stopped, and her eyes met his. He could see the look of disbelief cross her features, making her pause for a moment before he heard his name whispered from her lips. She charged him, leaping into his embrace and leaving him breathless. He closed his eyes, arms crushing her to his chest, his hands feeling the heavy beat of her heart through her shawl. 

When he was able to speak, he said the only words that mattered. “I love you, Demelza.”

**Author's Note:**

> The last scene in Episode 2.07 has stayed with me ever since it aired Sunday night. As we approach the end of Act 2, I needed something to push me up into that false sense of security before episode 2.08 airs. 
> 
> If I have to fall, I want to fall HARD.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has supported my work this year. Massive thanks to rainpuddle13 and xxsparksxx for being such great people to bounce ideas around with and for all of you who have kudoed and commented along the way.


End file.
